Lunch with the Boss' Secretary
by Lady Lye
Summary: AC20X, Trowa is working as a mechanic for a large car company. But then the boss' secretary catches his eye... There's a reason office romances have a bad rap. Rated for language.
1. I Part One

**Lunch With the Boss's Secretary**

Part One  
  
I

It was a war that had cost them much, but he hadn't had anything to lose when he signed up to be a soldier seven years ago. Orphaned by the first war, he'd had no home and no family to speak of. Everything had been in such dreadful disarray that no one had ever objected to a clever boy with deft fingers helping out in the shipyard. War machines was more like it. He had been raised on the engines and axle grease of massive mechanical weapons, and when the next war began, his war, he was accepted into the ranks of human robots.

But Trowa's time as a soldier was long over. At first he had drifted, spent some time with his fellows from the frontline, but eventually he had returned to the shipyard, and found brand new automobile warehouses eager for mechanics to help them get the new age moving, while the war's boost to the military industrial complex still held.

The work wasn't clean, but it was honest and simple. Cars were mode of two basic things- metal and electricity. Somebody else was in charge of the increasingly complex computer chips; Trowa just had to make sure all the rest fit together. He could've done it in his sleep, could've got more money for what he did, but he stayed where he was, because he liked the men and the cars were well-made. He had his own sitting in the lot; a trust little thing bought on employee discount. It fit well in the cramped parking bays outside his apartment building. That, too, was night and maintained, with good neighbors, even if it was small and nothing to boast about. Trowa always waved hello and exchanged a few friendly words with the old man walking his dog, the mother getting her lazy preteen to the bus, the men and women who left for work and got their mail around the same times that he did. He liked it, and the way everything just existed, harmoniously. There had been more than enough disruption and excitement in his life during the war.

* * *

Yes, that's all for Part One, and it's not because it's the prologue-ish thing. ALL the parts are like this. And you're just going to have to suffer through them. I'm challenging myself. So there.  
  
Mwah.  
  



	2. II

**Lunch With the Boss's Secretary**

II

The day the new secretary was hired, Trowa was trying not to get a cold. It was January, and icy cold outside, but the men still sweated in the factory. A new Service division had been opened in their building, and Trowa was head of his own crew of three. Where they were was drafty: every time a new vehicle was driven in or an old one was released, the huge double doors opened and icy air swept in. His crew alternately welcomed and cursed the cold, often loudly. Trowa himself didn't say much; he just smiled faintly and kept them working.

There were advantages to being close to the outside. As one man had complained, there had to be, the way they were all open to pneumonia like that. Sure there was—a large plate glass window that both sucked the warmth out of the air and gave customers a view of capable men hard at work. Those men also had a spectacular view of the street one, two, or three floors below them, and everyone who came and went from Head Office, a squat building positioned authoritatively between the warehouses and the road customers used to get to the Service Center.

This hadn't really been any big deal a few weeks ago, but the big boss' secretary, an elderly, efficient woman with glasses and a Pantene Orange bouffant, had taken a fall over the Christmas holidays and cracked her hip all to pieces. She hadn't been back to work since, and word was that she never would be—the other secretaries and receptionists had spoken with her doctor and things sounded severe.

On the fourth day of the new year, an ad had appeared in all the papers- Seeking Corporate Secretary. Within a week, they had started coming for interviews.

Tall ones, short ones; thin ones, plump ones. Not too many males ones, but plenty of female ones. Everyone knew the boss was itching for a young one, some said to screw, while others logically pointed out Mrs. Davenport's increasing disabilities, and the infamous Monday or Sunday incident.

To the men, it never mattered: they were getting a free assortment of women coming by the plate glass window six times a day.

* * *

And Teresina, you are absolutely welcome to pester me for more. XD For this story, I actually have it! (And I'll forget to post if no one reminds me!)  



	3. III

_Belated Disclaimer: Trowa isn't mine, and nor is GW. Raisa, on the other hand, is. And so are the other original characters herein. No lawyers allowed._

**Lunch With the Boss's Secretary**

III 

The routine was always the same. Fabien talked to Joseph, who was buddies with Nick, who was dating Theresa, who was practically sisters with Elizabeth, who worked across the hallway from Debra, the incompetent temp. Elizabeth did half of Deb's work as well as her own, and she'd immediately taken over the phone and appointment book after Theresa's boyfriend's buddy had made such a compelling offer of a moonlight dinner one of these nights if the rest of the boys could just know the boss' interview schedule. They were such hard-working men—they really deserved the break, you know?

Every day Theresa came to kiss Nick good morning. A crowd of grease monkeys would be waiting, and she'd whisper coyly into Nick's avid ear. Reapplying her lipstick, she'd leave, and he'd turn to them with an unreadable look on his defined Italian features.

"Five today, and the first one's coming at nine! Then every hour after noon!"

_Yahoo!_ Whistles and catcalls, shouts of celebration. It was a good one today! And the weather _just_ warm enough that some women would try to wear skirts. Even in this cold, Dress to Impress meant freeze your ass off in heels if it gets you the job! Should a lady find herself slipping on the treacherous ice, she could of course be assured of a gracious blue-collar gentleman at the ready to help her.

At first they wondered if they should hide all this from Trowa, but it was a little hard for fifteen men to be inconspicuous, so finally Joe suggested they ask him to join them.

Trowa has already known wat they were up to, of course. He took his new position seriously, and his did, after all, have a penis. So, no, he wouldn't be joining them at the window every time, but if they kept him informed and went back to work in a timely fashion, his men would never get called on it.


	4. IV

**Lunch With the Boss's Secretary**

IV

It was a slow day when the new one was hired, and maybe that contributed to her being offered the position. It had, to be sure, been three weeks of Debra's bad filing and Debra's bad coffee, and Debra's bad habit of laughing with her tongue pinched between her teeth and lower lip, like a Cheshire toddler. Even Elizabeth was more than ready for a permanent hire.

Theresa delivered the day's itinerary as usual, but this time there were no grins when the men went upstairs to their stations. Trowa was at his excuse for a desk, shirt already unbuttoned from the heat but still secure on both shoulders, reviewing what had been placed before his team that day. He glanced up, and raised a questioning brow at Nick, who had the least reason to be upset.

Nick shrugged. "Only three today. Two in the morning, one just before shift ends."

Trowa nodded, fixing a checklist for the oil-leaking minivan rising through the floor to them to his clipboard. Sullenly, the team got to work, working efficiently to find the problem and a solution to it. Trowa fell into the routine of manual labor. It was all so familiar to him, and comforting.

"Nine-thirteen," Joseph announced, trying to sound casual. Fabian leaned away from the minivan to peer down at the sidewalk, already putting aside his tools. Trowa and Nick kept working. Already men were drifting over from all over the Service Center, to the window with the best view. They waited tensely, as though the entire day's worth rode on this one woman's appearance.

But she never came. Disgusted, they dispersed at nine-twenty-seven.


	5. V

**Lunch With the Boss's Secretary**

V

Ten-forty-five wasn't much better. Again they gathered, guardedly. Trowa was finishing the paperwork for the minivan, and he, too, drifted toward the window, more out of mild curiosity than interest. The clipboard remained in his hand, at his waist, his shirt decidedly more crumpled than it had been when he walked in. He was one of the few still wearing one; the garage was kept well-heated and the rest of the men were required to do more labor then he. They sweated in the pale, butter sunshine from the weak summer sun, shifting their weight impatiently.

Cars sped along the highway, turning off, but never into the lot. At last a modest four-door pulled in, and a pair of panty-hosed legs stepped out. The anticipation sucked every atom of air from the massive space, and collectively they all leaned out to see her. The black pumps, the sheer, dark calves, the skirt that began at her knee only to be hidden by a plush black coat, edged in false fur. One hand, nails a glossy magenta, held the door open as the men began to fidget like eager puppies, muttering encouragement to the woman who couldn't hear them.

Smoothly, she stepped out, and they could all see the richness of her coat, and the all too familiar design on her handbag. "Where'd she get that?" one man hissed.

"What's wrong with that?"

"It costs a coupla hundred! For a _small_ one!"

Joe looked at the guy skeptically. "And how do you know that?"

The other man glared at him irritably. "'Cuz my sister's been angling for one since she was fourteen. What do you think I am?"

Joseph decided it was best not to answer that, and they all watched the woman dramatically slide on a pair of large, rhinestone-studded sunglasses, and strut into the Head Office. Some seemed enthusiastic about this one- "Gonna make a big impression on him!" but the rest just shook their heads.

"No way in hell," said Fabian succinctly, as he grabbed his goggles and went back to work.


	6. VI

**Lunch With the Boss's Secretary**

VI

Sure enough, the fur-coated wonder was gone well before lunch. She wasn't even holding the standard information packet Debra was supposed to give to all likely candidates.

Theresa didn't mind telling them why, over lunch. "That _woman,_" she decried, fork waving over her tupperwared pasta salad, "Well, she's just unbelievable! Did you see the way she looked at Biggerstaff?"

Elizabeth, seated next to her and pinning Joe to the wall- right where she wanted him- nodded around her sandwich. "Total slut!"

"Hey, Theresa, calm down, would you?" Nick glared, grabbing for her arm. "You're getting oil and basil all over everything."

"Don't you defend her, Nicolas. I saw the way you all were looking at her!" Nick winced. "Well I can tell you now that she is not worth your time." Theresa daintily jabbed her fork into another sun-ripened tomato. Trowa smiled slightly, glad for Nick and for everyone else that Theresa's indignation was only that, and not a righteous fury. He had seen her in a rage once, when another woman had tried to lure Nick home with her. Hellcat didn't do it justice. "And did you _see_ that bag? You know how much those cost?"

Joseph smiled ironically. "Coupla hundred? For a small one?"

He was rewarded by Elizabeth's shocked face right beside him. "How did you know that?"

"I like to stay in the know," he said smugly, stretching an arm almost around her... and then over her head to pinch the pepper from in front of Theresa. Her joy turned to alarm in a heartbeat and she attempted to scoot closer without driving him completely into the wall.

Fabian snorted, already done with his lunch. He looked at Trowa and rolled his eyes in their direction. "Makes you wish they hadn't combined the cafeterias." Stretching, he stood, and tossed his trash out on his way back to the Service Center. "I just hope Number Three's got a helluva lot better sense than the first two."


	7. VII

**Lunch With the Boss's Secretary**

VII

By late afternoon, it was sweltering. The double doors hadn't opened since lunch, and the air was thick with petrol and other noxious things. Trowa had abandoned his shirt hours ago, and swiped the back of his arm across his forehead, squinting to focus at the far wall. Too much damned paperwork, that's what ruined your vision. Slowly the blur dissipated, and he was left looking at the clock: four-thirty.

Fabien saw where he was looking, and looked at Trowa hopefully. "Yeah, go ahead," Trowa nodded. "I could use a break, too." He stepped away from the car, stretching and feeling cramped muscles groan. He was getting old. Was twenty-seven old? It hadn't felt old yesterday... Maybe he was just in the wrong line of work.

Fabian had moved to the window, Joseph and Nick quickly joining him. Nick pressed his bare chest against the glass, sighing at the contrast. The heat of his body rayed out as fog on the glass, leaving an imprint when he stepped away, chill to the touch. Trowa couldn't resist the allure of the cold window, and he joined them, leaning at first just an arm, and then his whole back against the glass. It felt so, so good... Amazing to think that without that window he could freeze to death in that weather; amazing to think that a few scant inches away it was freezing, while he was burning up.

The men stilled, watching. Trowa glanced over his shoulder, and then away. A small, plum, two-door economy car pulled into the parking lot, backing up to realign itself with the curb. It was too hot to worry about tiny, cheap cars with good gas mileage. It was too hot to think about how he was going to clean up that mess a broken pipe had made in their current project's engine. Too hot to do anything but press his back to the glass, and fight the urge to push his jeans down any lower- it was second-story window, Trowa, not his personal cooling system.

A low whistle broke him out of his reverie. Without really meaning to, he looked, and stilled.


	8. VIII

**Lunch With the Boss's Secretary**

VIII

Her name was Raisa Kobiak, immigrated to the country when she was four years old. She didn't speak Russian, and she didn't have many memories. She had sketchy qualifications, but it wasn't her fault. Her family had been tight for money, neither of her parents having particularly marketable skills. They had scrimped and saved to put their children through school, and Raisa had opted for the cheapest option available, to ease the strain for them: community college.

The city had good schools, but you didn't apply to be a Corporate Secretary with a community college degree. Trowa wondered what kind of degree you _did_ apply with (If you'd gone to a big-name school, why would you elect to be a secretary, with all its demeaning connotations?) but he didn't bother to ask Elizabeth that, just let her tell the story of what happened after Raisa stepped through the doors.

What Trowa had seen was limited, and yet it spoke volumes. She was tall, and thin, even in the thick layer of her coat. At first she had appeared to be wearing a long black skirt, but when she got out of the car, it split down the middle, and became a pair of loose, yet comely slacks. Beneath them she wore sturdy shoes with thick heels, unworried by their height, or lack thereof. Her coat was made of some kind of corduroy, with fleece at the collar and rolled-up cuffs. She ran a nervous hand down the length of her braid, and locked the car manually with the key. Dimly, Trowa remembered the good old days before car alarms and keyless entries. He forgot them again as she began walking, taking the sidewalk that ran directly beneath the window.

The men were pressed to the glass, each holding his breath, in case she disappeared. There was something about her, in the inoffensive way she held herself, the why droop of her eyes, that made them follow her every movement.

But when she glanced skyward, and found the mass of sweating flesh staring down on her, Raisa only connected with one.

* * *

AN: SEVEREST apologies for the delay!! The Man discovered that I still had script-style stories up and suspended my ability to upload until today. Damn The Man.  
  
Thank you to everyone who has left such kind reviews- you all kick ass.  
  



	9. IX

IX 

Raisa stepped into the foyer with apprehension weighing heavily on her chest. She ran a hand along the length of her handbag's worn leather strap, feeling the comforting weight bearing down on her left shoulder. Her shoes made soft tapping sounds as she crossed the slick granite floor toward the receptionist's desk.

The young woman behind it eyed her, finishing a call. The nameplate on the desk read, "Theresa Heim." Her skin was almond, her hair chocolate. Raisa felt her stomach twist- it had been too long since lunch. "May I help you?"

"Yes, please... I'm here to see Mr. Davis about a position. I have an appointment."

The dark eyes watched her intently, and then turned to a computer, tapping away. "Your name, please?"

"Raisa Kobiak. K-O-B-I-A-K. Appointment for four-thirty." She watched the young woman, trying to stifle the anxious grumble in her gut. She always felt uncertain coming in to an interview, especially to a brass and marble place like this. She kept waiting for a man in dark glasses to materialize beside her, and ask her to 'please step outside, Miss.' Somehow, she could never quite feel that she belonged here. So why was she applying?

"Alright." Theresa reached into a desk drawer for a Visitor ID card, and ran it through what looked to be a credit card reader. She made sure the clamp worked and slid it across the stone desktop to Raisa. "Use that to work the elevator, and keep it on you at all times. Third floor, take the left corridor. Follow it when it bends, and you'll be right where you need to be." She slid the drawer closed with a metallic clang.

"Thank you," Raisa murmured, backing away a few paces before turning to the elevator. She had passed the first test.


End file.
